Page 56 of Anyone But the Superstar

‘Damn it, Jones!’ Ron’s voice carries underwater.

Just to prove how much I hadn’t been thinking about myactions, as soon as I hit the water, I realize cannonballing into the pool wasnotthe smartest course of action.

For so many reasons.

Like, having closed my eyes, I get turned around in the unfamiliar pool. And with the pool so deep, I’m unable to push off the bottom, leaving me kicking to the surface, which is slow and exhausting thanks to my soaked jeans.

But the main reason jumping into the pool after Mike was a bad idea is because the force from all 212 pounds of me has caused a surge of waves that have pushed the skinny-dipping feline farther and farther away.

‘Mikey!’

Ignoring the sting of chlorine from the water in my eyes, I squint up at Anne, whose bare toes are over the edge of the pool, looking like she’s about to man-overboard alongside me.

‘I’ve got him.’ At least, I hope I do. ‘Stay there.’

She gives me a quick glance and a shaky nod before pointing toward the middle of the pool.

I begin swimming in that direction, huffing what seems like equal amounts of water and air.

‘Fucking hell!’

I’m pretty sure that’s Ron, but I’m too focused on the task before me to turn back and check.

‘Mike.’ I catch a glimpse of his ears as I push my hands out and back in a breaststroke, the heavy weight of wet denim making my legs almost useless. ‘Come here, man.’

While the waves I made pushed Mike a few feet away, his intense kitty-paddling is taking him even farther over the International Space Station and middle of the 200-foot-long pool.

Validating my feline aversion, Mike continues pawing the water in front of him – away from me.

I hear another splash, but I’m too focused on catching up to Mike that I don’t check who else is dumb enough to join my cat crusade.

I just hope it isn’t Anne.

Finally, I snag an arm around Mike. He must’ve gotten a hold of the hair clip just before I grabbed him because it’s in his front paws but he’s batting it around making it hard to keep hold of him.

‘Chill, man.’

Struggling to keep him and me above water, it hits that I’m now a hundred feet from the edge of a pool with no shallow end. And now, with Mike in my arms, I’ll need to swim back one handed.

I shift him to my chest so I can give us a moment’s rest by floating on my back, but the heavy soaked denim around my legs doesn’t allow me more than a few seconds before I need to kick out if I don’t want us pulled under.

‘I promise…’ My pleading’s staggered from struggling to stay above water. ‘I’ll buy you… a disco ball… if you just… stop moving.’

Hair accessory secure in his mouth, Mike listens.

And yet, in typical Mike fashion, he listens by digging his claws in the wet flannel covering my chest so he can use me like his personal flotation device.

Taking a moment to recoup, I close my eyes against the bright overhead lights above the pool and focus on keeping the top of my body above water.

I also question the validity of my trainer.

I’m a fit guy. The whole country can testify to that, or at least the ones who watch my movies. I do most of my own stunts and I work out nearly every day. Some might even say I’m cut.

The act of swimming, fully clothed, after a naked cat hasbecome my Everest, and I’ve found myself up shit mountain without a sherpa.

I’m fucking exhausted.

‘I’ve got you.’

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